


we're in the wrong time

by wasted_potential_007



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, F/F, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-18 16:40:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18703438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasted_potential_007/pseuds/wasted_potential_007
Summary: ENDGAME SPOILERS-post-Endgame, Maria comes back to find that Natasha's gone.-EDIT: reread this after sleeping and I realized it's kind of a spin-off of idontgiveamcfuck'sgone but not forgottenwhich is really really good. i'm listing this work as inspired by that fic bc they have a lot of the same elements and i would like to give credit where credit is due.(i guess i was subconsiously inspired by that work. go read it if you haven't already!)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [gone but not forgotten](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18618193) by [idontgiveamcfuck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/idontgiveamcfuck/pseuds/idontgiveamcfuck). 
  * Inspired by [gone but not forgotten](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18618193) by [idontgiveamcfuck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/idontgiveamcfuck/pseuds/idontgiveamcfuck). 



> endgame ruined me and i can't feel anything anymore.
> 
> also i posted this w/o reading the whole thing because i wrote this in a three hour fever dream after seeing endgame (yesterday, technically) so i apologize for any spelling/grammar/sentences that don't make sense.

“Hill.”

She opens her eyes.

She breathes.

And the sun is bright, obscenely bright, and there’s sound, _ finally _ , the sounds of cars whooshing past, people shouting left and right, and  _ since when has the sun been this bright _ ?

“Hill.”

And then suddenly Nick is looming over her, blocking out the sun.

(she sees his hand first.)

“Nick?”

“They did it.”

It comes back to her now as if it all happened a moment ago; a helicopter crashing into a building above, swerving out of a path of an unmanned car, the tingling feeling as her hand disintegrates but  _ now _ she can feel her limbs,  _ now _ she can see the bustling city around her.

“Thanos?”

She takes the offered hand, standing up from the ground and dusting herself off slightly. There’s a slight soreness in her body but it seems like all of her bodily functions are intact; she wiggles her fingers and toes to check, just in case.

“Probably got his ass beat.”

She chuckles a bit at that. “How?”

Nick gives her a look.

(or, as much of a look that can be mustered with one eye.)

“Hell if I know. I only returned a couple of minutes before you did.”

She checks her watch out of habit; sees the number twenty-three when the year is supposed to be and  _ oh gosh, it’s been five years? _

Nick must see her surprised expression because his lips curl upward slightly in what is as much of a smile as Nick Fury can summon standing on a sidewalk in what looks like the middle of New York City.

“Five years,” Nick scoffs. “Took them long enough.”

Her phone comes next; she pulls it out, tries to turn it on.

“Phone works,” she mutters.

“Seems like whatever intergalactic voodoo magic used to dust us doesn’t screw with electronics.”

She raises an eyebrow, looking down at her phone in hopes that she’ll see -  _ yes, there it is _ \- a voicemail or two from Natasha, dating back to May of 2018 and there are pages and pages of them, and she doesn’t know if she’ll have time to listen to them all.

(but the most recent one is from four days ago, and if everything’s been reverted then why hasn’t Natasha called her yet?)

“Natasha,” she says, “is Natasha alive?”

She knows Nick’s analyzing her, reading her to see if she’s alright and she doesn’t want to put her mask on just yet so she allows it.

“You’re asking me for answers I don’t have, Hill.”

Her voice is firm. “Then who does?”

Nick sighs, pulls out his phone.

“Let’s find out.”

\---

Hours go by and her phone doesn’t ring, buzz; it’s absolutely silent and ignoring the sinking feeling in her chest becomes harder and harder as time passes.

But the alternate possibility that she doesn’t want to even  _ think about _ , the one where Natasha’s somehow gone, is hard to _ attempt _ to understand; Natasha there one moment and gone the next and it doesn’t- it can’t-

_ It can’t happen _ .

They’re flying to Barton’s off-the-grid farmhouse so at least there’s one good thing: Clint’s still alive, and as much of an idiot he is, he wouldn’t let Natasha die, not for anything.

Nick stands up from the pilot’s seat of the Quinjet, presumably letting the autopilot take over and walks towards her. She moves over slightly, letting him take a seat next to her.

“I got a call.”

She pauses for a moment, doesn’t want to hear what’s next,  _ needs _ to hear what’s next.

“And?”

He looks away.

(but Nick Fury is not uncomfortable with death so it can’t be,  _ Natasha’s alive, it’s fine-) _

“Spit it out,” she says, and her voice is low, dangerously low.

“I’m sorry.”

And the world goes still.

\---

Her ears are still ringing when she steps off the Quinjet, her jaw clenched, tingling from the stress and  _ no it can’t be, this is all a dream- _

“Clint!” She yells, sprinting towards the farmhouse and she can see that oh, all of Barton’s family is there but Natasha isn’t,  _ Natasha isn’t _ \- “Get your ass out here!”

He meets her halfway, clinging onto her wrists to stop her and no, this isn’t  _ right _ , and she jerks her hands away.

“Tell me it isn’t true,” she hisses because it can’t,  _ it can’t, just like that _ -

“I-”

“You son of a bitch.”

Clint doesn’t even flinch at the words, almost as if he’s internalized them already but that isn’t allowed, he can’t fucking blame himself; she should be able to do it first so that she can do something,  _ anything _ , not just fucking stand there and scream like some useless person who couldn’t save their partner in time.

“Did you let her die?” she’s full on screaming at this point, “Did you? Did you?”

His eyes are glossy with tears and she’s only slightly aware of the wet streaks on her cheeks but she can’t bring herself to care.

“I did,” he whispers.

It’s not enough.

“You bastard.”

“I know.”

And he already sounds so resigned, defeated that she can’t help but want to feel sorry for him but he doesn’t deserve it because  _ he let Natasha die. _

“How?”

He pauses for a moment, taking a deep breath but of course Natasha can’t; Natasha can’t inhale and exhale and smell what comes after the storm because she’s  _ fucking dead- _

“We needed one of the stones. A soul for a soul.”

“And?”

“I wanted to jump, but she didn’t let me, Maria, I was  _ so close _ \- I should’ve, I don’t know, wounded her so that she couldn’t hurl herself off the edge and run after me but-”

“But what, Clint? What?”

“Her hand was slipping from mine and we were already too far down.”

He takes a deep breath, and Maria steels herself for what’s coming next even though she already knows what he’s about to say.

“I let her go.”

And it feels like the ground’s been swept out from underneath her,  _ again _ , and she feels herself crumpling into the ground, kneeling and there are huge globs of tears streaming down now but she can’t fucking do anything about it, she can’t do anything at all because  _ she wasn’t there to see Natasha; she couldn’t save her. _

_ Useless, _ a voice says from the back of her head.

(she agrees.)

But Clint’s arms are suddenly around her back and she doesn’t feel anything other than pain and what seems like too much grief for a person and  _ how is the Earth still spinning, knowing that Natasha’s gone; never to breathe again? _

“You fucking bastard,” she mutters, and she can feel her tears staining his shirt, “I hate you.”

“I know,” he says. “I hate myself too.”

It’s silent for a couple of moments other than the wind brushing against the grass and footsteps; presumably Laura walking up to check on them but she wants it to be Natasha; wants to feel her touch, wants to hear her voice, wants to see whatever new haircut she’s got now.

“Why couldn’t I be there? Why couldn’t I have tried to save her?” she asks, but there are no answers; only empty promises and meaningless words left to greet her with the wind.

( _ “I’ll see you soon, Maria,” Natasha says, as they go their separate ways; Maria with Nick; Natasha with Steve. _

_ They met in a battle, after all. It only seems fitting they return there eventually.) _

“I don’t know,” Clint replies, and she can sense Laura beside her, crouching just to get on their level.

“I’m so sorry,” Laura says, curling an arm around the top of her back and shifting her head so that it’s leaning on her own.

It still doesn’t feel like enough; everything feels incomplete with Natasha gone.

\---

She gets word that Tony dies yet she can’t feel anything; her mind’s just focused on _ Natasha Natasha Natasha _ as she washes the dishes after a group dinner.

Clint steps up beside her.

“Want me to dry?”

She wordlessly hands him a small plate.

“What-” she suddenly says, breaking the silence after a couple of moments, “What did she say before, you know-”

“It’s okay.”

“What?”

“‘It’s okay’. That’s what she said before… before I let her go.’

She feels like she should by crying; choking back a sob, maybe, like the movies, but she just feels numb.

\---

There isn’t a large funeral planned for Natasha like there is for Tony; the others claim it’s because there isn’t a body, but she suspects it’s because not enough people care.

(or maybe she’s just being selfish, but it’s hard to think of the world functioning without Natasha in it.)

Clint takes it upon himself to organize one and one spring day eight of them meet in the field on the side of Clint’s house; herself, Clint and Laura and their kids, Nick, and an honorary appearance by Steve.

“Did you know her father’s name was Ivan?” Clint asks.

“She never told me.”

“To be fair, she only found out recently.”

No one says any words in honor; they just stand in a circle, a pile of flowers and a gravestone in the middle.

(how ironic, that something like death could be associated with beauty.)

\---

_ 5 months later _

She unlocks her apartment door, stepping inside and instantly, her senses go on high alert. Drawing her gun, she shifts into her stance, almost identical to the position she would be in when she would find her apartment door slightly cracked open only to see Natasha in her kitchen cleansing wounds with tequila but it can’t be Natasha anymore, so what’s left?

She walks into the kitchen and immediately notices a cardboard box sitting on the counter that was definitely not there two days ago. 

(opening it is an easy decision; it’s not like she has anything to lose.)

Inside, she finds an arrow necklace and a slip of paper reading  _ ‘54.741735, 20.519687’. _

_ Coordinates.  _

She takes the paper, tucks it in her boot and walks into her bedroom, grabbing her backpack and duffel bag from the closet.

Looking back only once, she puts on the necklace, takes a deep breath, and steps out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dunno i think this one's worse but GUESS WHAT i just want to post it.
> 
> honestly don't know if i'll post another update anytime soon; i'm pretty swamped in general and have got one? two? other fics to worry about.
> 
> oh yeah no proofreading other than grammarly. sorry for any blatant grammar/spelling errors, also "<<>>" means it's in russian (thx gone with the dogs)

Nick lets her have a Quinjet, giving her coordinates to all of his hideouts without questioning what she’s doing and she doesn’t tell him; somewhere, subconsciously, they probably both know that this isn’t even about her anymore, it’s about Natasha,  _ Natasha, Natasha _ .

She sets the coordinates; it’s in Russia, of course, and the GPS gives her seven and a half hours before she lands.

(it doesn’t feel any better, none of this feels right or natural or fair and it’s tearing her apart, burning a hole through her because Natasha isn’t here anymore to walk the Earth; all she can think of is Natasha’s face but it  _ hurts _ .)

_ It hurts, it hurts, it hurts- _

She punches the Quinjet wall, feeling wet streaks on her face; the only response is a slight dent and the stabilizing of the aircraft.

There’s no one to see her, hear her, listen-

_ No one _ .

(not anymore. not since Natasha.)

She reaches into her back pocket, digging out her phone and scrolling to the voicemail inbox.

_ 57 unread _ .

Her thumb hovers over the first message from April 27th, 2018 and she closes her eyes, feels the tears being squeezed out from under her eyelids.

Sitting down on a seat, she clicks the button.

_ “Quick check-in. Apparently, Thanos, this intergalactic hellbringer, is collecting all the Infinity Stones. We’re on our way to Wakanda right now.” _

There’s a brief pause where all she can hear is the silence of Natasha’s voice; she wants the gap to be filled, she  _ just wants Natasha back and hear her voice and look into her eyes- _

_ “Steve and I picked up Wanda and Vision. Call me when Nick gives you the clear. _ ”

She keeps her eyes closed for another moment, hearing the silence drag out before taking a deep breath, feeling her chest rise and fall.

She opens her eyes; her cheeks are stained.

She presses the button again.

_ “Quick check-in…” _

\---

“<<Who are you?>>”

She whips her head around.

“<<No one comes here anymore. Not after her.>>”

“<<Who?>>” she replies.

“<<And the American speaks.>>”

She raises an eyebrow, he stands up from his rickety stool.

“<<Red Death. Black Widow. Whatever she’s going by these days.>>”

She pauses for a second, feels her jaw clench at Natasha’s name and her emotionless mask slides back on quickly.

“<<She’s dead.>>”

The man looks surprised. “<<Romanova? She finally did it?>>”

“<<What do you mean?>>”

“<<Too stubborn to die by another’s hand, that one. The only way that Romanova could die is if she chose it herself.>>”

She looks away, squeezes her eyes shut, trying to calm her racing heart but all she can see is Natasha’s face and it doesn’t help,  _ nothing can help at all. _

“<<You’re right,>>” she finally replies. “<<She chose sacrifice.>>”

He looks at her, as if analyzing every wrinkle on her face.

“<<Show me.>>”

“<<What?>>”

“<<The necklace. I need verification.>>”

Wordlessly, she digs out the arrow necklace from inside her combat suit currently covered up by an overcoat, seeing the moonlight reflect off the silver of the arrow. And she ignores the emotion welling up in her chest.

(not a day goes by where she doesn’t look at this and it’s a reminder of Natasha and what she went through  _ and the cliff _ -

not that she needs reminding. her heart’s already shredded up anyways.)

“<<Interesting. I thought Romanova would’ve given it to him.>>”

“<<Who?>>”

“<<They fell down from the roof right,>>” he hobbles a couple of meters down the road, motioning towards a dark alleyway, “<<right there. Scared off some birds. I remember it.>>”

“<<He didn’t kill her when he had the chance to. And then they leave together.>>”

The man sighs, digging out a key and a slip of paper from his coat.

“<<She comes back a couple of years later, gives this to me, tells me to give this to the right person.>>”

He hands it to her and she inspects the key, looks at the golden glint. There’s something engraved on it that she can’t decipher in the moonlight and when she takes a look at the scribbles on the paper they’re also illegible in the dark; she’ll have to ride back to the Quinjet and decipher it there.

But at least it’s something. At least she can hold onto this like she can hold onto the necklace, almost as if she’s gripping onto something, anything that reminds her of Natasha,  _ Natasha, Natasha who’s gone but won’t ever disappear. _

“<<She means something to you, I can tell.>>”

“<<She is everything.>>”

It slips out with no hesitation at all and she’s surprised by the firmness of her own voice even though it hurts,  _ everything hurts _ .

“<<Go. Maybe one day you’ll see her again.>>”

\---

The  _ putt putt _ of her motorcycle stops when she turns her bike off, letting it sit in the belly of the Quinjet and she immediately misses the noise; her thoughts become too loud in the silence.

Taking off her helmet with a sigh, she takes the key and paper out of the waterproof compartment in her suit. 

The paper is wrinkled in the light, presumably from years of wear and tear, but she can still read the series of numbers and letters on it:

_ “23.AD1B71758E219652BD3C, 8B.A67A0F9096BB98C7E282” _

_ Interesting. _

Natasha’s chosen hexadecimal for these coordinates instead of, well, normal numbers and even with all the years she’s spent with Natasha, she can only hazard a guess why.

( _ “I’m only here to make your life interesting, Maria,” Natasha says with a dead-straight face. _

_ She raises an eyebrow, and a few seconds later Natasha lets out a smile that only makes her heart skip a little.) _

The sudden flashback makes her still for a moment and all she can think about is Natasha again and it’s like a vicious cycle; one image, one memory and suddenly she’s dragged back into this loop of seeing Natasha everywhere; in the streets, in buildings, when she closes her eyes.

(she’d seen a flash of red hair a couple of weeks ago in a crowd and she knows it’s not Natasha but  _ what if? _ )

She turns her attention to the key next, analyzing it underneath a desk lamp and it’s-

_ For you, Maria. I love you. - Nat _

She closes her eyes and suddenly there are tears running down her face and she doesn’t know why; it’s been five months and she’s supposed to be fine now but it isn’t, it isn’t  _ ever going to be okay. _

And suddenly she’s chucked the key against the Quinjet wall and it drops to the ground with a slight  _ clink _ and  _ why did she do that, she can’t lose one of the few pieces she has left _ . 

She picks it up again, gripping the metal so tightly that her knuckles turn white.

She just wants Natasha back.

\---

The coordinates on the paper give her a place in Tokyo and she arrives a couple of hours later, parking the Quinjet in one of Nick’s underground bases.

(there’s a void inside of her, she thinks, as she steps out of a random doorway and into a lively street; she doesn’t feel anything even with the lights and the street vendors and the people because this universe  _ didn’t let her save Natasha. _

_ Would you have jumped for her? _

the question pops up over and over again in her mind, and she always says yes.)

She walks for half an hour, a few days, a minute or two (who knows? she doesn’t gauge time anymore) but she arrives at the outskirts of the city eventually, walking up to a grimy-looking set of shipping containers.

(she should still feel something, maybe, walking up to what could be the last piece of Natasha she has left, but the thought of her only makes it worse.)

There’s a lock attached to the bottom of the container and she pulls out her key, inserts it in-

It doesn’t work.

(her heart jumps a little; she can’t help it because  _ what if this doesn’t work?) _

She leans in, pulls out a flashlight to inspect the lock; it’s almost completely rusted in the LED light and she switches it off, yanks on the lock once, twice, three times-

_ Clink _ .

The lock pops off.

And when she pulls the door up and steps inside all she sees is another door; another lock.

This time, the key turns.

And of course, it opens up to a stairwell and from the footprints embedded in the layer of dust someone has been here recently; she wonders what function it served, why it’s  _ here _ in all places.

She walks down a couple of flights, finally reaching the bottom and-

_ No. _

(it’s not Natasha, it’ll never be Natasha again but what she sees makes her stop dead in her tracks.)

There’s a ring on a table, placed in the middle of the room.

“No,” she murmurs, walking slowly up to the box as if she could scare it away with too-quick movements, “you don’t get to do this. Not now.”

(no one answers, of course, but it helps a little, pretending that Natasha’s somewhere out there and able to hear her.

she isn’t though, of course.

_ she isn’t. _ )

And there’s a sheet of paper right next to the ring and she picks it up, as if being gentle will do anything:

_ Maria, if you’re reading this, I was right. I didn’t come back. _

_ But it’s the same with every mission; you do what you need in order to save the world. The chances of my death on this one are a lot higher than what I’d like them to be. _

_ The ring should explain why, I hope - I’ve been planning to do this for a while and I didn’t want to go without showing you that I’m ready to take the next step with you, Maria, because I love you. _

_ I wish this could be longer, but we’re time jumping in a couple of hours and I’ve got to get back.  _

_ I wish we had more time. _

_ I’m sorry. _

_ Stay strong. _

_ I love you. _

_ ~ Nat _

And she looks back up from the paper, grabbing the ring even though it looks blurry with the tears in her eyes and she clutches onto it like it’s a lifeline because in a way, it is; without this, she’s nothing but a woman who failed to keep her partner safe but Natasha  _ still loves her _ , so much so that she was prepared to document it on paper.

Maria leans against the wall, holds the ring in her fist, and cries.

_ I wish we had more time. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feel free to comment. i'm going to sleep now.
> 
> (guys i just want natasha back is that so much to ask for?)

**Author's Note:**

> purposely left this open-ended so if i ever want to come back to this, i could. or this might just be a oneshot.


End file.
